Monday
by Cassodembreankia
Summary: SteveXReader One-Shot - You always knew there was a reason you hated Mondays. (My first time writing in second-person so I hope you enjoy!)


**Author's Note: This is the first time I've ever written in second-person, and I'm going to be honest, it was kinda weird, but kinda fun. I might do it again while my main series (Under a Violet Sky) is on summer-hiatus while I write as much of it as possible. It's meant for a female reader because I'm female and I'm better at writing females, but hey, I tried to make it** ** _somewhat_** **androgynous. I hope you enjoy it!**

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You screech like a feral bird and bolt across the burning field towards the city skyline in the distance, flames licking at your heels.

You knew there was a reason you hated Mondays.

The fire is all around you, but there is a small path cleared for you to run. You wonder why there is no flame over the three-foot-wide gap, but as you run over it, you begin to feel a smirk draw up the corners of your lips. The path without fire is covered with dead, trampled grasses—and frost. Your smirk grows wider as the ice crystals glimmer below your feet. You can't stop running—if you do they'll catch you. And trust me, that is the _last_ thing you want.

You brush a wisp of loose hair out of your eyes and spit another bit out of your mouth. But the edge of the field is in sight. The smell of the smoke is filling your nose. You try not to retch in disgust. You never did like the smell of smoke—then again, does anybody?

Your foot leaves the grass and touches asphalt. You stop, panting, trying to catch your breath. You can't remember how long you've been running. But you can't stay still for long.

Behind you, a roar echoes. You can hear it bounce off the city buildings. A sigh escapes your lips. At this point, you're really tired and can't remember how you even ended up here in the first place. Ahead of you, a path of snow begins to unfold. You snort. _Of course,_ you think. _He's still watching out for you—even after all these years._ And obviously, he was. But that was just him wasn't it? Intensely loyal.

You know you can't keep up your sprinting pace for very long, but you also can't afford to slow down. You're nearing the city, but at their rate of speed versus yours, they will overtake you in less than a minute. You curse under your breath, but keep going as fast as you can.

 _WHAM!_ Something smashes into you. Out of instinct, you shriek. But whatever it was came at you from the side, not the back, where that _monster_ was. You feel powerful arms wrapped around your waist. You're airborne. It's more than a little frightening, but you know that for the sake of survival you have to be strong, be brave. He would want you to be brave. And since he was still loyal to you, you will still be loyal to him. You choke down the scream that rises in your throat and let a shrill noise of pleasure escape instead. It's like going down a zip line, except something is holding onto you, rather than you holding onto something.

Finally, you turn your head. Blond hair whips in the wind near your face. A crimson red cape similarly billows behind. You smirk. Of course he'd send Thor to fetch you. The large Asgardian was formidable and intimidating to those who didn't know he was a big softie—a gentle giant—a slightly-oversized teddy bear. When he sees you looking at him, he gives you his big friendly grin, ocean blue eyes sparkling with good humor.

The God of Thunder flies you to the top of the tallest building in New York City—which just so happens to be Stark Tower. After a moment, the blond Asgardian gives you a proper hug, a friendly kiss on the cheek, and flies away to deal with the monster chasing you, leaving you alone on the rooftop.

Except you're not alone.

Behind you, a tender voice speaks your name. You turn.

A bright white smile, crystal blue eyes, dirty-blond hair, and powerful broad shoulders. You know his face as well as you know your own. Those eyes are shining with fondness. You feel like you've known him your whole life—though in reality you only met about three years ago. He holds his arms out to you. Without hesitation you cross the gravel of the roof and press yourself to his chest, wrapping your arms around his narrow waist. His strong grip holds your shoulders in a tight embrace. "I was so worried about you," he whispers. You smile.

"There's nothing to worry about Steve," you reassure him. You can feel his grin where his face is pressed in your hair.

"I know, but that doesn't stop me from being concerned," he says. You roll your eyes. Loving and loyal, yeah, but a bit overprotective. After a few more moments of the warm, tender hug you break away. He ensnares the back of your neck and gives you a gentle kiss. His lips are soft and warm. Where your hand rests on his back you can feel his strong muscles rolling under his T-shirt.

When he pulls back, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours. Finally, you ask him your question. "How did you make the ice path?"

A mischievous smirk that rivaled Loki's lit up his handsome face. "Tony made it. Nanobots in the air. Knew you'd be at the burning field, being chased by that thing. Asked him to send them to help you," he replied. You chuckle lightly as he gives you a small kiss on the nose.

"Well we'll have to tell him thanks later," you joke. He beams at you and offers you his arm. You take it and he escorts you down into the bowels of Stark Tower.

"Take a shower and get changed into something nice. I have a very good evening planned." The elevator opens to the floor of the building that serves as your apartment. It's pretty barren, but there are a few photographs of you and your friends on the walls, your favorite clothes in the closet, your favorite pillowcase on the pillow, and your quilt on the bed. You keep the pillowcase and bedspread because they smell like home.

Steve gives you his most winning smile and takes the elevator somewhere else. You groan with exhaustion and stumble into the shower. The steam curls around your face and soap slides through your hair. By the time you get out—taking longer than usual because the warm water feels so spectacular against your tense and worn-out muscles—the sun has started to set. You wrap your hair in one towel and your body in another. Set out for you on your bed—for a very brief moment you wonder who put it there—is a very lovely outfit. Red silk top with black slacks and leather sandals. A necklace with pearls and a ruby sits next to it.

You get dressed in good time. You're just finishing buckling the second sandal when the elevator opens. A redheaded woman is standing there, smiling. She comes into your apartment with a bag on her arm. Without saying a word she ignores your protests that you're not a child anymore and begins to attack your slightly-snarled hair with a brush. You roll your eyes as the snarls pull at your scalp. After several agonizingly long minutes, she finishes her hairdo and leaves. "Thanks Natasha!" you call after her as the elevator door closes again.

You sit patiently on your desk chair and wait for someone to come tell you what to do, or for Steve to come fetch you.

 _Ding!_ The pleasant noise of the elevator door echoes in your thoughts. You turn to see the metal doors slide open to reveal Hawkeye. He's wearing… he's wearing a suit. You're surprised to see him in something other than his combat clothes or jeans and a T-shirt. His hair isn't spikey like it usually is. It's been brushed out of his face and gelled like he's in the nineteen-forties.

Keeping one hand on the retracted door to keep it open, he offers you his other hand. "Captain Rogers requests your presence," he says in an almost sarcastically formal voice. You smirk, get off your chair, and cross the floor. You take his hand and he draws you into the elevator. The doors shut and he hits a button several floors up from your apartment. As the machine begins to rise, Clint Barton straightens his blue-gray tie. Normally you wouldn't care, but you briefly notice the silk neckwear matches his eyes. Vaguely you wonder who had to strangle him into wearing that thing.

When the doors glide open once again you're on the floor Loki threw Tony out of two years ago. Out on the balcony, through the floor-to-ceiling windows, you can see a dinner table set up with a lacey tablecloth and candles. Standing at the threshold out to the balcony is a tall man in a soldier's uniform. Under his collar you can see the glint of his dog tags. He never wore them anymore, unless it was an _extremely_ special occasion. You feel like blushing, but you refrain.

Hawkeye guides you over to him and bows out of your way. The old soldier offers you his arm, as he had barely an hour before. You take it and let him lead you out onto the deck. The sunset against the city skyline is magnificent, and quickly fading from rusty orange to blood red.

Steve pulls out your chair and indicates for you to sit. When you do he pushes it back in and takes his own seat across the table from you.

Tony Stark comes out of the Tower in one of his best tuxedoes and with a smirk plastered all over his features. There's a white towel over his arm and a notepad in his hand. "And what can I get for you two on this lovely summer evening?" he asks, trying—and failing—to keep laughter out of his voice. Steve looks up at his teammate with another mischievous grin.

"We'll both take the special," he says. You look slightly alarmed and your eyes widen. What was he making you eat? Tony beams with equal mischief and quickly walks back inside. You open your mouth to ask Steve what he just ordered, but at that moment the door opens again. Bruce Banner and Tony come out bearing plates and glasses. On the plate Tony sets in front of you—with a wink I might add—is your favorite. In the champagne glass is water. The genius gives you a very pointed look and retreats back into his high-rise.

The evening is warm, and the company is good. Steve was never particularly fond of your favorite food, but he seems to be enjoying it enough tonight. He shares with you stories of the nineteen-forties and the war—something he had never done before.

Slowly, the moon begins to rise on the opposite side of the sky from the sunset, casting its silvery-white beams on your soldier's face and lighting up his eyes.

When the two of you finish your meal—which is delicious—Steve stands and offers you his hand. You reach up and let him help you to your feet. He leads you into the Tower, across the floor, up some stairs, and out again onto the Iron Man landing pad. Constructed on the concrete is a wooden gazebo draped with white lights. At the entrance to the structure are two black speakers playing music. You scrunch your eyebrows. Who chose the song? Obviously not Steve—he wasn't too much of a fan of your favorite band. If you had to guess, you'd probably have to say it was Tony. The soldier leads you into the gazebo as the song changes to a much slower one. He gathers you to his chest and buries his face in your hair as the two of you begin dancing. He's a bit clumsy and is trying his best not to step on your feet. But you find it amusing, so you can't really be irritated.

"Your hair smells really good," he comments. You chuckle and shake your head in enjoyment.

"Thanks," you say. Whether you're good at accepting compliments or not, coming from him they always make you blush up to the roots of your hair and down your neck. You feel the heat rising in your cheeks and crawling in all directions. Your captain smiles and brushes a lock of hair out of your face, his blue eyes glinting with laughter.

After several long minutes of attempting to dance together, you and Steve decide it's not worth it to try anymore. So Steve laughs and takes you inside. Sitting at the counter is Tony, Bruce, and Clint, all in their nice outfits. When they see you, Tony leans under the counter and pulls out your favorite dessert. You look up at Steve with an expression that says "I should have known." He certainly _had_ prepared a thorough evening.

As you and your soldier start to dig in—joined now by Clint, Tony, and Bruce—the last of the sunlight fades away.

There are several long moments of silence in which everyone surrounding you is enjoying their dessert. When the silence is broken, it's by one of Tony's wisecracks that makes you simply roll your eyes. You sigh as exhaustion begins to tug on your eyelids. Ever the observant, Steve notices and takes your hand. He asks Clint to put the remainder of your dessert in the fridge and tells them that he's going to take you "home." Scooping you up into his powerful arms, he carries you to the elevator and presses the down button with his elbow.

The doors immediately open and welcome you in. As they glide peacefully shut, Steve sets you down. You give him a tired smile. All that running today really wore you out. He runs his fingers down your face and turns the corners of his mouth up. One of his hands takes one side of your face, and his other hand does the same. Cradling your head between his palms, he brings your face towards him, slowly, carefully.

You've never felt a gentler kiss—even from him. He's careful and delicate with your drained being. The warmth his body generates encircles you. It's comforting and soothing. The rest of the tension from running the shower hadn't gotten rid of slowly slid out through your touching lips.

For a moment your head feels really light. You remember that you have to breathe through your nose. Your hands have subconsciously found their way to his powerful shoulders. Your fingers can feel his strong deltoids tense and ripple under them. You never fail to be amazed at how such a great, muscular man can manage to be so tender.

The doors to the elevator open to reveal your floor. With one more kiss to the center of your forehead, he releases you. You stagger into your apartment as he disappears behind the sliding metal doors. So drained you can barely think, you abandon the fancy outfit on the ground and get your hair out of the do Natasha had put it in. Tiredly you pull your pajamas on and brush your teeth in your bathroom. Your face is remarkably droopy in the mirror. You decide you never want to run from monsters from other planets ever again.

As you climb into bed, you concede that despite the aliens and the overexertion, maybe that wasn't such a bad Monday after all.

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 **End Note: So, what did you think? How did I do? Meant to be a one-shot so there won't be more of this particular one, but hey, you never know.**

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **~Cass**


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